


A Star-Shaped Cloud

by BizerkoKittykins



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Lie Low At Lupin's, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 02:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11266200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BizerkoKittykins/pseuds/BizerkoKittykins
Summary: Lie Low at Lupin's. "Sirius, in addition to the nest of books...had parchment and quills thrown around the bedroom window. ...He was idly flipping a page back and forth, obviously thinking rather than reading. He had ink on his fingertips and smudged across one sharp cheekbone. I smiled and stepped more noticeably into the room." Written for the RS Games 2015 Team Moon.





	A Star-Shaped Cloud

Title: A Star-Shaped Cloud  
Category: Books » Harry Potter  
Author: Bizerko-Kittykins  
Language: English, Rating: Rated: T  
Genre: Romance/Hurt/Comfort  
Published: 01-30-16, Updated: 01-30-16  
Chapters: 1, Words: 4,349  
Chapter 1: Chapter 1  
Team: Moon

Title: A Star-Shaped Cloud

Rating: T

Warnings: Odd first person. Lots of passive voice. Loquaciousness, lots of sentence fragments. Yet another Lie Low at Lupin's fic to pile onto the internet.

Genre(s): text Romance, Angst, Hurt Comfort, Canon Compliant, Slice-of-Life?

Word Count: 4,073

Summary: Lie Low at Lupin's. "Sirius, in addition to the nest of books, smaller now, but the removed obviously relocated to the various stacks, now had parchment and quills thrown around the bedroom window. ...He was idly flipping a page back and forth, obviously thinking rather than reading. He had ink on his fingertips and smudged across one sharp cheekbone. I smiled and stepped more noticeably into the room."

Notes: This may be one of the weirdest things I've ever written. It's got this odd, big open feel to it that I can't describe. I'm not completely happy with it, but overall I think I like it. It's also one of the longest fanfics that I've finished, and even in its mediocrity, it's still much better than the others. So, there you go.

Prompt: 39

"Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storms, but to add color to my sunset sky." - Rabindranath Tagore

It was strange. Strange seeing the big, black dog loping his way up to the porch of my house after all of this time. Strange, the almost-matted fur slacked down by rain. Strange to see the too-big creature now too-thin. Strange to now again allow him to bring a sad smile to my lips. I got up and opened the door.

"Hullo, Padfoot."

Large grey eyes flicked up to me before he stopped in front of the door. He quickly shook himself off, water lashing the front of my house.

It used to be my parents' house years ago, before they died, before the war. Small and worn down, the pale cornflower blue paint had been chipping away all these years, like my health, like my patience- for a part of me knew, could feel that something was coming. I was waiting on something, though I hadn't a clue what. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. It only took twelve years, after all.

I gave him a tired smile. Padfoot loped his way through to the sitting room on red and cracked paws. Sirius gingerly lowered himself onto the sofa. A shadow, no, a skeleton of his former self, the man sank back into the overstuffed cushions of my shabby couch. And truly, a skeleton, thin and pale. As I stood in the doorway behind him and the couch and the pathetic mess of an old Persian rug in front of it clinging to its former glory-and, oh, that really was all too much like our current situation- I could see that skeletal frame shake with every gasping breath the other man drew in. Short hold. Wheezed out. Gasped in, short hold, wheezed out, suffocating cough, repeat. I shook my head slightly and turned back to close and secure the front door.

I returned and walked towards my kitchen, beckoning him with a wave of my hand. "I have something on the stove for you." Directing myself, I grabbed a bowl from a cabinet and began ladeling some broth off the stove and into it. "Dumbledore told me you'd be coming," I explained over my shoulder to where I could feel the man standing a few feet behind me. I grabbed a chunk of bread off the counter. "I expect you haven't been eating much or very regularly," I continued to babble, vaguely nervous, "so I made something light and warm to greet you with." I grabbed a spoon and turned to hand him the food. "If you're feeling up to it, afterwards I can make-"

I stopped short. Sirius was standing a couple feet behind me, yes, too-bright eyes in shadowed sockets. His eyes were locked onto me.

"Oh." Eloquent or not, it was all I could manage. I had seen the man a couple of times since his escape, but there had always been other pressing matters to consume our attention. Now I noticed- Sirius' eyes burned. Even Azkaban couldn't steal the fire and life that burned behind his eyes, in his very soul. A thousand ghosts now haunted this man's eyes, but despite the sadness and fear that played evident, those eyes still burned, still stopped me cold when I was their focus, as they always had. Always saw through my masks and nonsense, as they always had. I was suddenly reminded that this wasn't a stranger Dumbledore had asked me to play host to.

A small frown came over his face and Sirius cocked his head slightly to the side. He looked remarkably like Padfoot and the clench on my heart eased and warmed. I fought a laugh and handed him the bowl before getting one for myself. I sat across from where he had settled at my battered kitchen table.

We ate in a fairly companionable silence which only grew awkward after I had finished my food and had nothing with which to distract myself. I sat my spoon down in the bottom of my empty bowl and looked up. Sirius was wiping down the bottom of his bowl with the last of his bread. I cleared my throat.

I tugged at one of the cuffs on my button down and, resigning myself, cleared my throat. "Er, would you like some more? Or I could put on the kettle and make some tea?"

Sirius looked up and shook his head. His lips quirked a moment, then a voice low and growling, yes, but now broken, not smooth but croaking, raspy. "I'd actually like a bath. Where is it?" I almost winced. It hadn't occurred to me how little the man had probably spoken in, hell, years. How much time he'd spent as a dog.

"Oh, up the stairs on your left."

"The staircase is past the entry?" he asked, raising a hand to mock out the motions to his words. His hand was filthy, crusted in dirt and blood, cracked and red. This time I did wince. I nodded and pasted a smile on. He nodded in return and pushed out his chair, walking away.

Once he left the room, I sat my head on the table, suddenly feeling as exhausted as he looked.

After the initial reunion that night, I saw remarkably little of Sirius for the next week. He came out from his shower to ask to borrow my hair brush and use of the first aid kit, which I of course acceded, then I showed him the bedroom across the hall from mine and the bathroom where I had laid out fresh sheets and a set of pyjamas. He had immediately retired to it, shutting the door behind him. That door had scarcely opened for a week. It spent all day closed and only occasionally would I wake at night to hear it creaking open. I would hold my breath, clenching the bedclothes between nervous fingers and listening. Creaking, soft padding, one thump, then another, and other, then a soft squeak of the second stair down, padding, quiet.

I could suspect that Sirius was at least eating between his midnight excursions, for I was keeping the refrigerator well stocked, still making those meals for two that he never came down to, but I still worried for the other man. I was out of work for the moment- an unfortunately common occurrence- and so had long empty days to fill with that worry. On the seventh morning after Sirius arrived, I was sitting reading the Daily Prophet and chewing absently at one end of a toast soldier. The house was quiet and I read absently about some bloke scouring all of Britain for a teddy bear his son lost at the Quidditch Cup. This quiet broke when I heard a thump and some hoarse cursing from upstairs. In surprise, my jaw clicked closed and I bit the end off the soldier, the rest falling gracelessly into my cup of tea. I pushed up and quickly made my way to Sirius' door.

I rapped my knuckles three times against the door. "Sirius?" I called. I was met by yet more cursing. Cautiously I tried the knob and, finding it unlocked, pushed it open. I peeked in, seeing the man sprawled on the ground in front of the window seat, one of the cushions half-under him and the books under him digging into his ribs. The man was haloed around by books, really. A dozen of them scattered and another couple dozen in haphazard piles around the seat. The man struggled to get his palms in front of him onto a clean bit of floor and gain the leverage to push himself up. "Shit," he bit out, almost slipping again. I walked over and took hold of one of his upper arms. The man glanced up and scowled. Between the two of us, we got the man stably back onto his feet. Sirius growled lightly and began brushing off his shirtsleeves.

I bent and began righting the fallen books. Taking note of the covers, I realized they were all my own. Old from the attic, new from one of the many shelves in the living room, the man had gathered a seemingly eclectic assortments together in his room, all with several places marked. Standing, I offered the stack back to the other man. He took them, but, frustration still evident, he tossed the stack roughly onto the window seat, the stack slouching and pages catching and dog earing. I couldn't help but frown at the abuse. I wasn't angry, but I was terribly sad. I sighed and looked back at the man now raking angry fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face. "You're welcome," I said dryly.

With a familiar scowl, the man glared at me. "Remus," he said lowly, in warning. Familiar with the man's mercurial moods, I kept quiet. He stalked to the other side of the room and slammed around a stack of half a dozen or so books on the nightstand. Looking at the forlornly leaning books by the window, I straightened them, patting absently at the covers. Evidently finding what he was looking for, Sirius flipped quickly, almost roughly, through an old book on the cults of the British isles. I frowned and, picking up the pillow from the floor, sat down on the window seat.

When he used his thumb and began flipping back and forth, seeming to check between or compare some things, I could hear the noise of the pages.

"A little care, Pads," I said quietly.

His face snapped up towards me with a glare. A very Padfoot - like growl rose up in his throat. I could feel my eyes narrow.

"Sirius, I don't know what you're doing and I don't care what you're doing, but do not get short with me. " I closed my eyes and buried a growl of my own. The wolf had been too long alone to put up with such a display. After a moment to calm myself, I could feel the other man's eyes on me, the tension in the air dispelled or shifted. I took a breath and looked at Sirius, who now had a crease between his brows and concern in his eyes.

"Remus-"

"Would you like some tea?" I interrupted.

"Would I-what? "

"I'm going to go make some. I'll be downstairs. You can come and help yourself. " Then I turned on my heel and walked downstairs, still feeling Sirius' confused gaze raising the hairs on the back of my neck. I squared my shoulders and skipped the squeaky step.

Making tea kept my hands busy for a short while, but I soon found myself wandering back to the kitchen table. All through preparing the tea, I could hear the faint noises from Sirius' room and, as I was standing done and empty-handed and, as the noises continued, I knew I had failed to draw my old friend out of his room. I leaned my hip against the table and scowled. Turning that scowl to my cold tea and soggy soldier, I snapped them up and threw them back. I didn't even have the pleasure of sinking my teeth into them, but the strong tea assaulted my throat on the way down.

The next day, it rained. I sat curled up on the living room couch, ostensibly trying to reread a battered old paperback, but actually watching the rain bead up and make its way down the glass of the window pane when I heard the stair creak. A hard clap came next and I imagined the flat of Sirius' slamming into the wall, catching balance. When Sirius turned the corner cursing softly, I knew I had imagined correctly.

I watched with veiled curiosity as Sirius stumbled his way over to the bookcase on the far wall from my couch. One of his hands reached out and hovered just away from the spines, skimming his fingers horizontally down the rows. Long, strong, broad hands, they had always fascinated me. I could watch the flex of tendons, the line of his arm... Even over this brief amount of time, he was looking so much better, the benefit of rest and sleep, of regular meals. His hand closed over an old textbook, Signs in Tealeaf Reading, and he turned, his eyes landing squarely on mine.

"Oh. Hi, Moony," he croaked, looking a little awkward. His hand moved restlessly on the book tucked under his arm.

"Hi," I returned.

"A Separate Peace again, huh?" Sirius asked an aware and familiar smile on his face, but shifting his feet.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Again." I moved against the arm of the couch, wordlessly inviting Sirius to sit beside me. After a split second, he settled down, effortlessly taking over the remainder of the sofa. He rested one ankle on the other knee and propped the book open against the ankle, all but sprawling. I pushed down a smile; some things, it seemed, hadn't changed over all of the years. I turned myself back to my own book.

"Now here it was after all, preserved by some considerate hand with varnish and wax. Preserved along with it, like stale air in an unopened room, was the well known fear which had surrounded and filled those days, so much of it that I hadn't even known it was there. Because, unfamiliar with the absence of fear and what that was like, I had not been able to identify its presence. Looking back now across fifteen years, I could see with great clarity the fear I had lived in, which must mean that in the interval I had succeeded in a very important undertaking: I must have made my escape from it."

I looked up, seeing Sirius still absorbed in his book, absently pushing a piece of hair out of his eyes. Grey and stormy under broad, sharp stripes of black.

"I felt fear's echo, and along with that I felt the unhinged, uncontrollable joy which had been its accompaniment and opposite face, joy which had broken out sometimes in those days like Northern Lights across black sky."

Dinner. Quiet conversation. Fond smiles and the fine lines around Sirius' eyes and mouth when he did smile. Settling down on the couch again, more reading, companionably quiet except the quiet chatter of the radio. Sirius visibly straightening as he read something. Flipped back. Read again. Muttered that he had to check something and stealing away upstairs. Not seeing him again that night or all of the next day.

And I found that, after spending a day accustomed to my friend's warm presence, one which even in quiet and stillness could fill the room, much like an old dog, I hadn't realized how much I cared until deprived of his presence. That evening I gathered a bowl of the stew I had just made into each hand and careful not to lose balance of bump the spoon precariously balanced in each, I made my way up the stairs. I tapped Sirius' door with the toe of one of my shoes. After a moment with no answer, I called out, "Sirius?"

I could feel the frown tug at my lips. The man was ridiculous. Yes, he had become an animagus, without help, in three years, but this spoke to the obsession with which he threw himself into things completely, to the loss of awareness of everything around him. With a sigh, and only a splash of stew on the floorboards, I haphazardly cradled two bowls in one hand and managed the doorknob with the other.

Sirius, in addition to the nest of books, smaller now, but the removed obviously relocated to the various stacks, now had parchment and quills thrown around the bedroom window. The man had thrown a cushion onto the floor in front of the windowseat, resting his knees on it and propping his elbows and ribs up against it. He was idly flipping a page back and forth, obviously thinking rather than reading. He had ink on his fingertips and smudged across one sharp cheekbone. I smiled and stepped more noticeably into the room.

I cleared my throat and, coming to, he straightened and looked at me. I smiled and moved the bowls where he would notice them. "I thought we might eat together tonight?"

He smiled and glanced down at the book. He pushed it away and stood up with a soft grunt. "Sounds good." He went over and pushed one of the stacks on his bed against the wall to make room so we could sit down. Sirius tore into the stew and we ate quietly. I glanced over to the books in the window seat and the skies beyond. Bright blue with soft white clouds crawling across the sky. Beautiful, with waving green tree branches and birds in flight. Free. Bright. Hopeful after yesterday's storm. I sat my bowl aside, finished and turned to the man beside me, all but entombed by his-actually, my, come think of it- books.

"So, what are you looking for in all of this, anyway."

Sirius quirked his brow, not looking up from his bowl. A firm believer that food was far too important and sacred to be interrupted by something as plebeian as conversation, and aware that I knew it, he must have realized that this had me curious, that it wasn't a simple and conversational question. I had tipped my hand. "Just answering a question," he grunted, deflecting the question with a non-answer.

"Mm. Yes, but you must be researching...something," I said, looking at the variety of titles. I couldn't honestly figure out what he was looking for. "I'm very good at that, you know. Research. Years of you and James making me do it for you at school, Dumbledore after. I could help you," I entreated with a smile.

"Thanks, I've got it, though," he answered, still not meeting my eye. He had sat the bowl on the crowded nightstand and was still looking at it. Maybe he wanted more…? I shook my head. That wasn't the right expression; I'd know.

Sirius wasn't wanting to tell me what he was looking into. That was worrisome. And, really, I'd already had one war worth of secrets between me and this man, a war worth of living with him with the air thick enough to cut through, from secrets and lies and...well, but that was something else altogether. Better not to think on that now.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. Now I could feel Sirius' eyes. "Moony? You're angry."

"It's fine," I ground out. I pushed up with my hands on my knees and reached across the man to get his bowl. "I'll just go downstairs, do the washing up, make some tea-"

He grabbed my arm. "Remus. You're angry," he repeated. "What is it?"

"No. No, really, I'm not fighting with you, Sirius. I'm done here. Do you want some tea?" I tugged at my arm. I could feel his scowl.

"No really," he croaked irritably, "how many times are you going to offer me some damn tea? Is that your automatic reaction to discomfort- apply tea?"

I fought a hysterical laugh. I met his eyes. He had one brow raised, a challenge. I sighed and relaxed into his arm holding mine. "Perhaps it is," I answered. "I...just...why the secret, Sirius?"

A moment of thick silence. "It's just...complicated," he said at length. I nodded encouragingly. He quirked his lips. "It'll sound mad." I didn't say anything and waited for him to elaborate. He gave me a probing look, probably trying to size my reaction. I kept my face carefully neutral. "I saw a cloud," he finally said, with a strange sort of finality. He released my arm and sat back.

How to reply? He saw a cloud…. "Yes, we do have a lot of those around here."

He leveled a look at me, expressive face of his. It made me feel kind of daft, actually.

"Yes, Remus, but the shape of the cloud. I was trying to remember…" he trailed off. One hand started raking fingers over the edge of a nearby book, flipping pages with a grating sound. I placed my hand on his and he stilled.

"What do you mean the shape of the cloud? What does that mean?"

The man sighed and closed his eyes. His face wary, he looked much older than his years. Sometimes it could be so easy to forget. I watched the dark crescents of his lashes flicker before he reopened his eyes. "Clear nights, out this window, I can watch the clouds move. I couldn't see any clouds in Azkaban- oh, and stop wincing, Remus! But I can see the clouds, and do you remember Divination? Azkaban stole all the pleasant memories, but I was always bored out of my skull in that class, so you can understand why I still remember it. But I remember the old witch teaching us Nephelomancy for a unit in sixth year."

I winced slightly-would he call me out on it? No. "I never took Divination."

"Oh." He cleared his throat. Evidently he couldn't remember that. " But the book…? Anyway. But, yeah. Divination. Nephelomancy is the art of reading the future in the clouds. Any clouds. A lot of druids thought you could just look up at whatever piece of sky was nearby and the shape of the clouds there would tell the one looking at it about their future."

"Ah." I nodded and my hand twitched lightly over where it rested on his. Catching myself, I moved my hand away. I twisted my hands together on my lap. "And the different clouds have different meanings?"

He nodded vaguely. His eyes were distant, staring out the window at the slowly reddening sky. "Yeah. It was all kind of vague, as far as I can remember. A lot like tea leaves. Ja-James and I never took divination very seriously. Mostly just came up with elaborate lies about what we saw..."

"And what did you see? What made you suddenly so interested in Nephelomancy?" I prompted, trying to bring Sirius back from wherever his mind was going.

"A door. A door, dagger, eye, star...All of these shapes. The morning after I got here, I woke up, and looked across at the window. And there they were. Just as clear as could be, only shapes in the sky, framed by the window. I kind of sketched them down, because it was...odd. I got this distinct feeling. Hard to describe. How, you know something should just be nothing, logically you wanna brush it off. But it just sticks with you and you get this feeling, almost like you didn't know you were waiting for it. That sight stuck with me." Here, Sirius turned and looked me directly in the eyes. His eyes were a clear, cool grey. More sharp and focused than I had seen him since before Azkaban. "Remus, I have been through just about every book in this house, and I still can only make half sense of it. Oh, I can match symbols to meanings-odd event, danger, caution, hope- but that still can't tell me what's going to happen, still can't tell me if it really means anything, if this is just crazy. If Azkaban's catching up with me."

I shook my head. "I don't think you're crazy, Sirius," I said with certainty. "However… It's like you said. You've already done everything you can. Unfortunately, none of us know what the future holds, Nephelomancy or no. Sometimes…sometimes you just have to hold onto that hope. Just have to live your life and hold onto what precious little that you can. It's all any of us can do."

Slowly, Sirius gave a smile. "I guess I have to stop trying to read my future, huh? And just start building it. I guess you're right." Sirius smiled and clapped me on the shoulder. "Well, I guess I've spent enough time in this room. Let's skive off the washing and go sit on the porch, yeah?" He left his arm resting over my shoulders as he led the way out of the room.

I smiled and looked over my shoulder at his room, out the window.

I saw a star and a heart. Maybe better to think on that now.


End file.
